


Never What it Seems

by LastScorpion



Category: Forever Knight, Murdoch Mysteries
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Partnership
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 09:51:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2105226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LastScorpion/pseuds/LastScorpion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick and Trace are on a long, boring stakeout.  Tracy's a good cop; she notices things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never What it Seems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PJ1228](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PJ1228/gifts).



“Cigarette smuggling? Seriously?” Tracy complained as she ducked in through the car door and flopped down into the passenger seat of their nondescript departmental beater. “I got you a coffee. It’s freezing out there. You’re welcome.”

Nick managed to restrain himself from recoiling at the scent of the scorched, over-sweetened brew his partner shoved under his nose. “Thanks,” he said, and wedged the plastic foam cup into the nearest cup-holder, displacing an appalling flurry of gum wrappers and sunflower seed shells.

“Really, though, why is this such a priority? Cigarettes!” Tracy slurped down some of her own, super-sized, cup. She suddenly turned to face Nick head-on. “Did you tick the Captain off again?” she demanded.

Distracted by the terrible, burnt smell of the coffee....

_The year had been 1904. Much like tonight, it had been bitterly cold._

_He’d been awake for several hours already, but had been kept inside his lodgings by the high northern sun. Seven hundred years of age meant he could climb out of his specially-secured travelling trunk as soon as he woke, trusting the thick curtains (which had been the rooming house’s main desirable feature) to keep him from going up in smoke. He took his time with his toilette, with the goal of presenting himself to the young city in the guise of a respectable professional gentleman._

_His resolution to avoid human blood had still been young as well in those days, raw as the newest buildings of the bustling settlement._

_As soon as the sun set, Nick had set out for the unfashionable, industrial part of the city, searching for the accommodating slaughterhouse that Aristotle had recommended to him. Before he’d located it, he’d already smelled an unusual amount of smoke, but his need for blood outweighed any concern about some distant fire._

“Nick!” Tracy yelled, and poked him.

Nick shook himself back to the present. “Organized Crime says we’re looking at millions of dollars worth of trade, Trace. And there have been four homicides confirmed connected with the operation. This is a solid tip, and we’re not the only ones pulling surveillance duty.”

“I know,” she sighed. “Are you gonna drink that?”

Nick looked at his partner in surprise. Yes, she had already finished her cup of sludge. He pushed his coffee over to her without a word.

“Thanks.” She took a long drink, with every appearance of enjoyment.

Nick shuddered. They both watched their assigned building for a while.

“Y’know, I’ve never **ever** known a cop who didn’t drink coffee,” Tracy started, meditatively.

Nick manufactured a supercilious snort. “You can’t call that stuff coffee.”

She waved it off. “Whatever. Snob.” She checked both cups to see if there was any left. There wasn’t. “But you don’t even drink the good stuff.” She turned to face him with a flounce of fluffy hair. “When Rico brings in those fancy coffees from the different South American countries, you don’t even **try** them.”

“Allergies,” Nick said absently. He thought he heard something in the warehouse they were watching. “Shh, I think there’s something going on.”

They watched in silence for a while. Nick soon identified the sound as a cat, nosing around the loading dock at the side of the building, probably looking for a place to get out of the bitter cold. 

Tracy started to shiver. “It’s **freezing** in here! Why don’t you have the heater on?” she finally asked.

“Hmm? Oh, here.” Nick switched it on.

“Thanks. You didn’t even notice how cold it is, did you?”

Schanke used to complain about the same thing. Nick briefly allowed himself to be lost in recollections of his old partner – his continual jokes, the way he always smelled at least faintly of garlic – he’d never felt so **human** as he had when riding with Don. When he tuned back in to the present, Tracy was still complaining about the weather. He drifted back again....

_”Jaysus Christ, it’s cold as a witch’s tit tonight! Call this springtime? ‘Cause I don’t.”_

_Not really paying attention to the butcher’s conversation, Nick had distractedly agreed. Cow’s blood really didn’t smell **good** , not like human blood, but he was very hungry._

_“There ya go, guv. Enjoy your experiments.” The butcher finished wrapping the bottles in paper and string, and exchanged the package for Nick’s money. “Pleasure doin’ business with ye.”_

_“Likewise.” Nick nodded his thanks and headed out, to find an out-of-the-way corner where he could down the first bottle in one long gulp._

_It was only after his first clawing hunger was slaked that he noticed the much-increased harsh smell of smoke._

_It was a bee’s instinct to quaff all three bottles before stepping out of his sheltering doorway. Once clear of the overhanging awning, Nick had seen that the night sky was lit with blazing fire not four blocks away._

_Fire can kill a vampire. The sensible thing to do would have been to flee._

_Nick had flown towards the flames._

“Nick. Nick!”

“Hmm? Oh, I think I must have been mistaken about hearing our suspects out there, earlier.”

“Yeah, me too. My guess is cat. But I was **asking** about this ‘coffee allergy’ of yours. Is it just that oversensitivity to caffeine thing? Because I’m pretty sure that, like, nobody is actually **allergic** to coffee – not roasted, brewed coffee, anyhow. Some people get a skin reaction to the dust from the green coffee beans....”

“Um, yeah. It’s the caffeine. Oversensitive, like you said.”

There was silence in the car for a few moments. Nick was beginning to really, really wish that the cigarette smugglers would show up so they could arrest them and get out of this car. 

“That must be terrible,” Tracy mused. 

Nick gave her a questioning look.

“Not being able to drink coffee,” she explained herself. She shook her head and breathed over her empty cup. “I couldn’t do it.”

“I’m sure you could if you had to,” he murmured.

_The fire had already spread to several buildings by the time Nick had gotten within view. There were firemen on-site, but the bitter cold was freezing the water in their hoses, and they didn’t seem to be making any progress against the flames. Having satisfied his curiosity, Nick had been undecided on whether he should try to help or just leave, but then his attention was grabbed by a panicked human heartbeat, thundering a block or so away. His first response was to be attracted to prey, but then (stomach comfortably full of beef’s blood) he felt an old-fashioned chivalrous impulse to rescue someone._

_The vagrant had been rummaging the alley’s refuse containers for food or something he could sell when the fire had boxed him in. He’d crouched among the bins, whimpering, with his arms over his head. Nick had scooped him up by the scruff of his clothing and flown him to safety, never letting the tramp get a look at him. “You were **lucky** ,” he’d whispered into the man’s ear, as he’d left him outside of the range of the flames. Then Nick had sped away, back into the smoke._

_That had been exhilarating. He’d wanted to do it again._

“…That ever happen to you?” Tracy was just finishing up.

“Um.” Nick looked at his partner.

She huffed at him in exasperation. “That’s **another** thing. Cops share stories about weird busts they’ve made, Nick! It’s a **thing** we do – human connection! You are my **partner**! I should **know** more about you by now!”

“My favorite color is blue?”

She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to her window.

Nick returned his attention fully to the present. He sensed no smugglers, anywhere around. He sighed.  
Keeping watch over a building where absolutely nothing was going on just couldn't keep a grip on his mind.

_”See?” Nick had gloated to the LaCroix that always lurked in the back of his mind, “There **can** be fun things without killing mortals!” He'd swooped showily down onto the steps of the Bank of Montreal, well-clear of the firemen for the moment (there were hundreds of them; help had come in from all manner of nearby towns) and set down a drunkard, who had fainted the moment Nick had picked him up. No need to worry about bending his will; nobody would believe him even if he told the tale._

_“That’s seven saved,” he'd said out loud, lisping a little around his fangs. It wasn’t many to put against the thousands he’d killed over the centuries, but it was something._

_“Not a bad night’s work,” said a cool voice from behind him._

_Nick had instinctively whipped around and hissed, before he realized how foolish that was and damped down his eyes and teeth. (It had been badly done.)_

_The dark-haired man who had accosted him was respectably but not expensively dressed, just a little disheveled, and somewhat marked up with soot. “I caught sight of you flying overhead when I was taking a breather from assisting with the fire-fighting efforts. I projected where your landing would be, and followed.” He’d extended his hand, as if expecting Nick to shake it. “Police Detective William Murdoch. And you are?”_

_“You saw nothing out of the ordinary,” Nick had insisted, but the stranger’s heartbeat had been elusive, and he was afraid the man was probably a Resister._

_“Are you trying to control my mind?” The man had looked interested rather than affronted. “Well, you’re clearly not an angel, though the fangs and glowing eyes, I’d say, had argued against that interpretation already, and I can’t imagine that a devil would go to such trouble to save people. Surely a demon wouldn’t sound so pleased – no, **relieved** to be doing so.” The detective studied Nick dispassionately. “Your clothing is European, as are your shoes. And I saw you shy away from that iron girder on the last block, when you were flying clear of the leading edge of the flames.”_

_Actually Nick had flinched from the happenstance cross that the beams had formed in falling, but he said nothing about that._

_“And you were undeniably **flying** , despite your lack of visible wings. Would you be one of the Fair Folk, sir? The Sidhe on the wind?”_

_Well, it had been a story that wouldn’t bring the Enforcers down on him. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he'd said, and tried to manufacture a nervous smile. “I was just passing through.” Despite the obliging late-night abattoir, staying in this city with a curious policeman’s attention on him held no appeal._

_“Who would believe me?” the man smiled. “On behalf of the city of Toronto, I thank you for your assistance.”  
_

_This time Nick accepted the handshake. “Nick Chevalier,” he acknowledged. “And you’re welcome.”_

“No, sir,” Tracy was saying into the radio. “There’s no sign of any activity at all here. Well, we saw a cat a couple hours ago.” She laughed at something the Captain said. “Vetter out.”

“The sun will rise in an hour,” Nick said, and then hastily corrected himself. “Our shift is almost over.”

“Yeah. Well, hopefully somebody will get something somewhere today, or we’ll have to do this all over again tonight. Fun!” She looked at him quizzically. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk about stuff in terms of when the sun will rise or set.”

“Sun allergy. I have to be careful.”

“Hmm.” 

They sat in silence for another quarter-hour, keeping fruitless watch on the warehouse.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, in a heedless hurry of dust and wind, Javier Vachon landed noisily at Nick’s window, thumping against the car door.

“Nick!” he gasped, “You’ve gotta come quick! It’s Urs, she’s gonna—“

“Vachon?!” Tracy interrupted.

Vachon’s jaw dropped. “Trace?” he said weakly.

“Well, what… Wait.” Tracy suddenly slugged Nick on the shoulder. “Oh my God! You’re a vampire!”

Nick looked helplessly from his partner to the young vampire who’d just blown his cover, and apparently needed some sort of desperate help, and back again. “Yeah,” he sighed. “Yeah.”

_And so Tracy learned that Nick was a vampire, and she and Nat bonded over this shared knowledge, which gave Natalie somebody to **talk to** when her friend committed suicide (because Nick? Not so good with the talking) and then there were more people looking out for Screed and Urs and Vachon, and NOT EVERYBODY DIED LIKE IN “LAST KNIGHT”. The end._

Disclaimer: “Forever Knight” and “Murdoch Mysteries” and all their characters are not mine.

Acknowledgments: A million thanks apiece to FriendlyMigo and Sindrisnctchr for beta-reading! Also many thanks to PJ1228 for suggesting a crossover with "Murdoch Mysteries". I'd never seen it before, but they had the DVDs at the library, and we've all really been enjoying them here.


End file.
